In this hour of her extremity she must make sure of his absence by running the risk of having to endure his nearer presence.

When she knew that he was not there, she took a bundle from inside the room, shut down the window through which she had escaped, and wrapping her head and hands in a thin black shawl such as Indian women drape themselves with, she sped off over the dark grass to the river.
Overhead, the stars sparkled in a sky that seemed almost black.

The houses and trees, the thick scrubby bushes and long grass, were just visible in all the shades of monochrome that night produces.
In a few minutes she was beyond all the houses, gliding through a wood by the river.

The trees were high and black, and there was a faint musical sound of wind in them.

She heard it as she heard everything.
More than once she stopped, not fearful, but watching.